


Friday Dinner

by longwhitecoats



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Curtain Fic, Dinner, Fluff, Jewish Character, Jewish Comics Day, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-01
Updated: 2016-06-01
Packaged: 2018-07-11 15:18:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7057846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/longwhitecoats/pseuds/longwhitecoats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They’ve already been dating for a few months before Sam invites Steve over for Friday dinner, so when it finally happens, Steve senses that it’s special.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Friday Dinner

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kleenestar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kleenestar/gifts).



They’ve already been dating for a few months before Sam invites Steve over for Friday dinner, so when it finally happens, Steve senses that it’s special.

“Is there anything you want me to bring?” he asks, a little nervous. A lot of his friends in the old neighborhood in Brooklyn were Jewish, but he’s never been to a Shabbat dinner before.

Sam just grins at him. “Nah,” he says. “Just bring you, sweetie.” He wraps an arm around Steve’s waist and pulls him in, kissing him softly on the lips and then the forehead. Steve feels the tension drain out of him. He wants so badly to be the best possible boyfriend to Sam, because Sam is the best possible boyfriend _always_ ; but of course, one of the things that’s great about Sam being the best is that he uses his words.

“Maybe wear something nice,” Sam adds. “Not too fancy. But nice.”

Steve nods, already thinking about whether there’s anything in his wardrobe that fits the bill.

*

He shows up in a nice button-down and slacks, carrying flowers, because he’d felt too weird showing up empty-handed. He figures if Sam really doesn’t like them, he can leave them outside. He knocks.

Sam is wearing nearly the same outfit as Steve when he answers the door, so Steve figures he got that right. He’s also wearing the little knitted cap that his old friends called a _yarmulke_. The light inside is soft, touching Sam’s handsome face with gold. Steve feels a sweet pang of love spike his heart.

“Lilies,” Sam says, shaking his head and laughing. “You can take the boy out of Catholic school, but...”

“Oh no,” Steve groans. “Sam, I’m sorry, I didn’t think—”

“It’s okay, sweetie,” Sam interrupts. “They’re nice. Actually, bringing flowers is perfect. I forgot to get some.” He leans in and kisses Steve. Then he adds, his eyebrow raised a bit chidingly: “But maybe stick to roses next time.”

Inside, the house smells mouth-wateringly of some kind of stew; when they walk into the open plan kitchen-dining room, Steve can see it in the slow cooker. Sam has set out candles on the table, and the last rays of sunset are spilling through the window, giving the whole space a rosy glow. Everything is spick and span, set just so. Sam gets out a vase for the lillies while Steve takes it all in.

“This is lovely,” he says at last. “Thank you for inviting me to share this with you.”

“You’re welcome,” Sam says, smiling over the tops of the flowers. He leans in for a kiss. “I love you.”

“Mmm. I love _you_ ,” Steve says back. They say that to each other a lot, and every time, he wants Sam to know that he _really_ means it. “Can I do anything?”

“Wine glasses,” Sam says, nodding to a nearby cabinet. Steve fetches, and Sam puts them on the sideboard near the slow cooker. “Okay, candles first.”

“Should I—” Steve says nervously, not sure what to do with himself. He touches his hair, wondering if he should’ve worn a hat.

Sam shakes his head. “I’ll tell you if you need to do anything, honey,” he says. “You’re my guest. And you’re not Jewish,” he says, looking meaningfully at Steve’s bare head. “These rules are for me, not you.”

Steve smiles. “Okay,” he says. “I’ll relax into it.”

“You’ve never relaxed into anything in your life,” Sam chuckles. “But I’m glad you’re making an effort.” Then he leans over and lights the candles.

 _Okay, Rogers_ , Steve tells himself. _The only way you’re going to screw this up is by trying too hard. Just let your boyfriend share this with you_. He breathes out slowly, watching Sam waft the smoke of the candles up towards his face with his hands.

“Baruch atah Adonai...” Sam begins, and that’s all Steve recognizes. After a moment, Sam stops and gets the wine glasses Steve set out; he pours some of a nice merlot they’ve been saving into each cup, and hands one to Steve. Then he starts singing a prayer in a kind of half-chant voice.

Steve doesn’t know what to do, so he just holds his cup and listens. Sam has a lovely voice, warm and distinctly his own. Most of the time Steve notices it when they’re trading quips and Sam gets in a real zinger, or when they’re in the field and he’s straining for Sam’s voice to give him the all clear. Hearing his voice like this feels both oddly formal and much more intimate, and Steve suddenly blushes, thinking of Sam crying out with joy when they’re in bed together.

“You can drink now,” Sam says, and Steve jolts, realizing he’s been daydreaming. He drinks, feeling his face heat.

“Mmm,” he says appreciatively. Sam raises his eyebrows, but if he senses what Steve’s been thinking, he doesn’t say anything about it. He just gets something from the sideboard that’s covered in cloth and puts it on the table.

“Baruch atah Adonai—“ Sam begins again, and after a short sentence, he tears off some bread and hands it to Steve. He takes a bite, and Sam tears off a piece for himself and eats it.

“Did you make this?” Steve says. “It’s really good.”

“Thanks,” Sam beams. “Yeah, I usually buy it, but I wanted tonight to be special. It came out okay?”

“It came out great,” Steve says, abruptly starving. His stomach makes a burbling noise, and he claps a hand over it, embarrassed. Sam just laughs.

“Well, the next thing we do is eat dinner,” Sam says. “I think you can handle that part.”

The stew is delicious—Sam is an amazing cook, although he swears up and down that the recipe is really easy. They chat for a while about food, and then about restaurants in D.C. that they’ve been meaning to try, and then about an aviation exhibit at the Smithsonian that Sam is desperate to see. Before long, Sam’s a little tipsy, and Steve can’t resist leaning in to kiss him, and then they do that instead of talking for a while.

“Wanna move this to the bedroom?” Steve says, running a thumb along Sam’s jaw. Sam sighs happily. “If that’s not against the rules or anything.”

“Oh no,” Sam says. “Doing that tonight is an _excellent_ idea.”

“Even if it’s not, uh, restful?”

Sam shakes his head. “Someday I’ll explain all the rules to you if you’re really curious, but right now I have better things to do with my mouth. And so do you, soldier.”

“Yes sir,” Steve laughs, and he takes Sam’s face in both hands for a kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for the prompt and the beta-read, Kleenestar! <33333


End file.
